


Beatdown

by marzichan



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: AU, Gen, Superstuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-05
Updated: 2012-03-05
Packaged: 2017-11-01 10:39:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/355714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marzichan/pseuds/marzichan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jake fights his loyal robot without the benefit of Novice Mode. Superstuck AU. Art by <a href="http://kilehye.tumblr.com/">kilehye.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Beatdown

**Author's Note:**

> Superstuck is a Homestuck AU based in a world where supervillains and superheroes are a common sight. In this AU, Jake is both a supervillain called General Terror and the son of the infamous Lord English. You can find out more by visiting [this page.](http://generalterror.tumblr.com/faq) This story was originally posted [here](http://generalterror.tumblr.com/post/17812878260/no-no-this-just-isnt-cutting-it-you-sigh) on Tumblr.

“No, no, this just isn’t cutting it.” You sigh, scowling, and get off of Otto. “I feel like you’re just letting me win! Where’s the sport in that? I need to work on improving my hand-to-hand combat techniques in case the Tailorbird disarms me again. I can’t be fully dependent on my guns or even on you, you know. I am a supervillain. I should be self-sufficient.”

Although Otto frequently helps you practice, you can’t help but suspect that he is going incredibly easy on you. He pulls his punches, his reaction times are slower than they should be, and when you pin him to the floor he doesn’t struggle for very long. It’s actually rather frustrating. You want him to treat you like an equal opponent, not a fragile Fabergé egg, coddled and protected from breaking. Normally, sure, that is an ideal mode for him to be in when you’re out and about and possibly in danger, but as a sparring partner… no. You need him to take this seriously. 

“I’m not letting you win. I’m just making it easier for you to do it.” Otto climbs to his feet, brushing a non-existent speck of dust off his metal chassis before glancing toward you. His glowing orange eyes are completely unrepentant. You frown at him, disapproving, since the whole reason you asked him to fight you in the first place was to get better at it! Not for him to stroke your ego by pretending you are a skilled master of boxing and wrestling both.

“Otto, you are completely missing the point.” You cross your arms with a huff. “Why the hell else would I—hang on a minute.” An idea pops in your head, briefly distracting you from your irritation. “I can order you to disable your inhibitors where harming me is concerned. Ha, why didn’t I think of that before? Then you _have_ to fight me with all your might! None of this namby-pamby bullshit.”

“You don’t want to do that.” He tries to warn you, but you wave off his concern with a literal swish of one hand.

“Nonsense! It’s a splendid idea.” You grin, excited by the prospect of a real fight. You’re ready to move past novice mode and brawl like two true men should. Well, more like a human and a robot, but whatever, close enough!

“Jake. You know I respect you and would never openly defy your wishes as per my programming, but this is making me come close. Are you sure you want to do this?” You’re a bit taken aback by his somber tone. 

You wonder why he seems so grave. You’re not asking for anything crazy! Just for him to fight you at full power, so you can see just how far you’ve come since you started practicing with him. You want to know if you can last on your own against a hero, if you ever happen to lose your weapon.

“Would it make you feel better if I set up some kind of trigger to restore your settings to their default state? A safe word, as it were.” Still, even if his resistance is exasperating you, you don’t entirely dismiss his feelings on the matter. You want to do this, yes, but you don’t want him to hate you for it. If he really is this worried by the prospect of changing his programming, you’ll compromise and offer an easy way to reset it. Not that you’ll need such an out, though!

“Please.” Otto answers, firmly. You reach out and place a hand on his shoulder, reassuringly.

“Everything will be fine. Don’t worry, Otto.” You pause, trying to think of a good trigger phrase. “Ah, got one. All right, here we go!” You rattle off the necessary numbers and phrases to alter his set parameters, inputing the correct sequence to turn on his developer’s mode. You remove the commands that prevent him from doing you any real harm—even if he wanted to—and verbally key in the new password to restore his default limitations. There. All done.

You order him to reboot to adjust to his new settings, and his orange eyes obediently gray out before flickering back to life. You take a few steps backward, bringing up your arms into position. 

“How are you feeling, Otto? Ready for a proper bout of fisticuffs _now_ , old chap?” You taunt him, grinning. “I’m ready to kick your steely buttocks so hard you’ll kiss the moon. So have at me!”

Unfortunately for you, he does exactly what you wanted: attack you with full force and speed. You manage to block the first blow, but the second sends you reeling, stars bursting behind your eyes as you take a metal fist to the jaw. Your glasses go flying, clattering to the ground, one of the lenses cracked by the impact. He doesn’t relent, giving you no time to recover as he shoves you backward.

You hit the wall with a loud ‘oof’, dazed and confused by this sudden turn of events. This is a lot more difficult than you thought it would be. Perhaps Otto was right in thinking you weren’t ready for this.

You roll out of the way just in time, Otto’s fist going right through the plaster wall, exactly where your head was only moments before. You scramble to regain your bearings; too bad you can barely see what’s going on around you right now. You stumble forward, scoop up your glasses, and shove them back on your face as quickly as possible. Meanwhile, he works on extracting his arm from the damaged wall, turning toward you yet again once he’s free of the wreckage. 

You attack him with a loud cry, determined to win the upper hand. He dodges your clumsy punch and plants a swift strike to your stomach instead, sending you flying a second time.

You land roughly, wheezing, but before you can get up—a familiar metal boot stomps on your ribs. You feel something crack and shift, followed by a burst of incredible pain. He kicks you from the side this time, rolling you flat onto your back. The metallic taste of blood is definitely in your mouth by now, but whether you cut your lip or coughed it up is hard to say.

He lifts his foot again, orange eyes cold and impassive as he calculates the most efficient point to strike. “Vatican cameos!” You cry out, weakly, chilled by the realization that he’ll end up killing you if this continues.

Otto freezes. His system resets itself, restoring the limitations that apparently are all that exists between you and a painful death. You watch with relief as his eyes once again warm up and fill with concern. Thank the devil-fucking dickens that he urged you to set up a safe word before this whole debacle began. You were an idiot to think a normal human could take on a robot and win in a contest between flesh and steel. Flesh is so much easier to damage and destroy.

“I warned you. Are you all right, Jake?” He kneels beside you, reaching out to touch you, only to hesitate and pull back as if he’s afraid of worsening your injuries unintentionally. 

You smile through the pain, not wanting him to feel bad when it’s your fault for not listening to him. You thought you could handle it. You were wrong. “I believe at least one of my ribs is cracked, if not broken, and I’ll probably be bruised in several obvious places by the morrow.”

He watches you quietly, his posture stiff with guilt and regret, before finally giving in to the urge to pick you up. He cradles you carefully to his chest, smoothing back your hair with a gentle hand. “I’ll call off your heists… I’m sorry. I thought you might’ve stopped me before it got this bad.”

“You were just doing what I told you to.” You wince; being jostled causes your chest to ache even more. It hurts, but you can keep what little pride you have left by not crying about it. You have to be strong.

“Mm.” He avoids agreeing or disagreeing with your statement. It’s clear he will hold himself responsible for what happened, no matter what you say. 

You lay your head against his metal chassis, abruptly exhausted. Your jaw is killing you, but you make no effort to find a more comfortable perch. You’d rather rest against him than a pillow anyway.

“I guess I’m not as good a fighter as I thought after all.”


End file.
